


Of Shelter and Belief

by Memories_of_the_Shadows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Kandersgiving 2020, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II Quest - Tranquility, Reunions, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27779254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memories_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Memories_of_the_Shadows
Summary: Karl isn't Tranquil anymore, but that doesn't mean all his problems are solved.  And it would be really nice if Anders would wake up.
Relationships: Anders/Karl Thekla
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Of Shelter and Belief

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Never-Ending Love Song” by MONO INC.
> 
> All thanks must go to [ModernArt2012](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012) for her excellent beta.
> 
> I do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, especially any with ad revenue and subscription services, or any website other than ao3 unless I personally cross-posted a work.

Karl thinks it’s strange, not being in the Circle.

Not even not being _in_ the Circle because he’s been out of it before, when he was sent to Denerim during the Blight. But even then he had templars and guards and suspicious looks from nobles.

Here, now, with a simple change of clothes and the right kind of companions… nobody even looks at him. Karl is just one more person on the street.

It’s almost claustrophobic, being around so many other people, so many _strangers_ , and if it wasn’t for Anders’ friends surrounding them both--a burly man half-supporting, half-dragging an exhausted, unconscious Anders--he might have a panic attack.

As it is, he’s tense enough to jump when the white-haired elf growls from behind him.

“What are you to him? Another member of his ‘rebellion’?” the man says, with a sharp jerk of his chin at Anders’ back. He doesn’t seem to ask it out of any concern for Anders, but they couldn’t have known each other for long unless he was another Warden. Anders’ last letter from Amaranthine was only a few months old, and the last letter Karl sent was a few days ago.

Karl fights the urge to itch the brand on his forehead. Never before had he listened to Anders’ wilder ideas beyond mere indulgence, but now…. “No. We’re friends.” Normally he would stop there, even among friends--which this man hardly seems like much of one--but there’s something intoxicating about the freedom he seems to have now. “Lovers, sometimes.”

A woman flashes a grin and twirls a dagger, “only sometimes?”

“It’s--” Karl starts annoyed, then he remembers that these people aren’t mages, maybe have never even seen the inside of a Circle before. He sighs, and looks back at Anders. “In the Circle, you don’t have relationships. We… were close. Too close.” Karl can’t help himself this time, runs his fingers along his brand and looks down at the cobblestones rather than meet anyone’s eyes and see pity there. “He was always far too attached to me. It would have been better if he hadn’t come.”

Whatever he did to fix Karl seems to have nearly killed Anders and if it has then Karl can’t see how he could be okay with that kind of exchange.

The elf grunts and the woman snorts. “Seems to me that Anders wouldn’t be the kind of man he is if he just left you behind,” she tells him, and Karl shrugs.

Anders rarely stays anywhere long, but the only reason he ever left Karl behind was because Karl insisted on staying where he was.

The group stumbles into a bar, and head immediately for the rooms in the back, the woman peeling off to talk to the bartender and loudly flirt with the waitress.

A dwarf ushers the mage carrying Anders into the room and he eyes Karl when him and the elf follow. “Varric Tethras,” he says after a moment, his eyes flicking up to Karl’s brand. He doesn’t put out a hand for Karl to shake, but Karl thinks that’s only because Varric doesn’t… _know_.

After all, Varric’s put himself between Anders--who is being put gently to bed by the man who carried him from the Chantry--and Karl.

“Karl Thekla,” he returns easily. “Thank you for the accommodations for Anders.”

Varric’s eyes drift up again at the actual inflection in Karl’s voice, so unlike a Tranquil’s, before he shrugs. “‘Course. Blondie’s a friend.”

“That’s good.” The thought of Anders having friends makes him smile, he remembers a lonely boy with only one friend to begin with, a friend who gradually got more and more distant each time Anders escaped. Which made Anders leave even more until Karl managed to catch his interest, first with spirit healing, then with more personal interests. “Anders could always use friends.”

“Corff’s going to have Norah bring in some soup and a bit of hardtack but he says that he doesn’t want a Tranquil going around bothering the customers,” the woman says as she comes in the door. Karl notices the elf that’s still with them frown.

“Isabela, did you tell him that our guest isn’t _actually_ Tranquil?” Varric asks, squinting at her.

“What do you take me for? The man’s got a brand clear as day, and no one really knows how Anders fixed him. If I’m going to spread rumors like that, I kind of want to actually know what will get me killed by the Chantry.” Isabela flips her hair over her shoulder and flutters her eyes at the elf. “Oh, Fenris, does this mean you are actually _concerned_ about our dear healer?”

Fenris glares, his arms crossed over his chest. “Of course not, but I want to know how _that_ \--” he gestures at Karl with a tilt of his head, “--happened. I will wait.”

“You’ll have get your own wine, Norah said I’d have to pay extra for alcohol to be brought.” Isabela shrugs. “I think our last Wicked Grace Night was a little too much for her delicate sensibilities.”

“ _What_ ‘delicate sensibilities’? Norah is about as delicate as granite,” the burly man says, snorting, after he finishes cracking Anders over for any obvious wounds. Karl itches to go to Anders’ side, to check for himself, but years of hiding keep him where he is.

“Aw, Hawke, you’re just mad that she shot you down,” Isabela coos, wiggling her fingers obscenely. “It’s not Norah’s fault that you’re terrible at flirting.”

“Rather than a terrible flirt, eh, Isabela?” Varric winks at Hawke and shoves an elbow into Isabela’s hip. “Besides, I think you like the kind of woman who’s a regular badass as well as a hardass.”

“The only reason Aveline has not ‘shot him down’ is because she cannot tell the difference between Hawke’s normal terrible flirting and his terrible flirting in earnest,” Fenris mutters from the wall behind Karl, to which Varric and Isabela laugh and Hawke groans.

Karl feels very out of place here, but he can see why Anders would like these people so much. They remind Karl of Anders, in different ways, especially all the jokes. Karl knows that Anders copes with stress through humor, which wasn’t always easy to handle but it is just one more thing that makes Anders _Anders_ , and Anders is always willing to explain the joke when Karl doesn’t get it.

It rarely makes it less funny, at least to Karl. He stares at Anders’ still, crumpled form and counts each rise of Anders’ chest. If he loses Anders because Karl wasn’t careful enough….

The waitress, Norah, slips in and sets a pot of stew on the low, stone table and throws some sturdy, plain bowls down next to it. She stares at Karl for a long, awkward moment and then she leaves, glaring at Hawke on her way out.

Isabela claps Karl on the shoulder, then pushes him into a seat near the pot. The stew smells very ferelden, but with hints of unfamiliar scents as well. “Good job acting, there, she’s not a gossip like Corff but a feeling Tranquil would likely be too interesting to keep to herself.”

“Oh, thank you,” he says, even though it hadn’t occurred to him that he _should_ be acting like a Tranquil in front of people who don’t already know. He hesitates, but then takes a bowl from the stack and serves himself some stew.

Anders shifts to his side in his sleep, and Karl feels tension he didn’t even know he had drain away. They hadn’t often gotten a chance to sleep together, but Karl vividly remembers just how impossible it was for Anders to stay in one position. Seeing him so still… it had been worrying.

Karl takes a bite of his stew. It tastes as Ferelden as it smelled, but he recognizes a few vegetables he only ever had in the Gallows--cheap bits of corn, a swirl of bright tomato, and slimy okra--mixed in with the more normal, to him, potatoes, carrots, and onion that makes it different enough that he might not call it a Ferelden stew even if a Kirkwaller might.

“Ugh, they never get it right,” Hawke complains miserably, even though he still eats it.

“Tastes fine to me.” Varric shrugs. Fenris pulls a packet of herbs and powder from a pocket that he stirs in before eating, and Isabela silently begs Fenris for some too after a bite.

The stew in his own bowl is gone before he realizes it, but that doesn’t surprise him. He’d been a Tranquil for mere days, but he’s always known that the Tranquil in any Circle must be reminded to eat, even though they are capable of feeling hunger. Too often Tranquil will follow an order to conclusion without regard for their own care.

For the few days Karl was one, the templars were… not very _interested_ in making sure he ate regularly. He didn’t _starve_ but he could see how that might have happened eventually. He dishes out another bowl, and then one for Anders when he sees how low it is.

This one he eats slowly, trying to think about how he feels about… everything.

It’s rather like trying to breathe through a blocked nose without first getting rid of the block. A few bits of panic, despair, and fear get through and Karl decides it might be better to wait until he has someone sympathetic to talk to to poke around _that_. He concentrates on the food.

When he finally finishes and lifts his head, both Isabela and Fenris are missing. Hawke and Varric are playing a version of Wicked Grace that only needs two people, and Anders is still asleep, though half flopped out of bed and on his stomach, his face mashed into the pillow.

Hawke and Varric only glance at him when Karl stands. There isn’t a chair next to the bed and it’s low to the ground anyways, so Karl just settles self-consciously on the floor next to where Anders’ hand is laying on it palm up. It looks uncomfortable, so Karl picks it up and holds it gently in his lap.

Anders shifts a bit more onto his side, snoring just a bit.

‘He must be truly exhausted,’ Karl thinks, because Anders never lets anyone close enough to touch him in his sleep.

Templars are fond of pulling mages from their beds if they’ve done wrong, or if the templars think they’ve done wrong, and Anders has borne the brunt of such more than once.

Never again. Not if Karl can help it. They’re both finally free and it’s not nearly as terrifying as Karl always thought it would be.

He studies Anders’ hand. They’re big hands, with long, clever fingers, that Anders is prone to waving around in excitement while he talks. They’re one of the features that Karl likes best about Anders, just how expressive they are. Karl doesn’t care as much about the sex they used to have as Anders does--sex can be pleasant but is often not worth the hassle, if Anders hadn’t been interested in it then Karl wouldn’t have bothered--but he could watch Anders talk and gesture all day.

They used to make healing potions for the Circle together and Karl would get distracted by Anders’ hands going through each motion efficiently and quickly. Eventually both of their fingertips would be stained green from the elfroot and then Anders would notice Karl had fallen behind a long time ago and then nothing else would get done that day, even if it was just because neither of them could stop laughing.

Karl wants more moments like that with Anders. He hopes that they will get a chance to have them.

There’s a trail of dry drool coming from the corner of Anders’ mouth and Karl doesn’t envy the pillow. It’s probably soaked through. But the fact that it’s dry means Anders is likely to wake up soon and that thought breaks the dam he’s been hiding behind.

His eyes prickle with tears that he doesn’t even attempt to stop.

When Anders wakes up, Karl will know if Anders blames him for what happened. He picks Anders hand up and gently cradles it, pressing it to his cheek and forehead, fearing that this will be the last time he can do this. It’s entirely irrational to think that Anders would blame him, but Karl can’t force the fear away. Instead he lets his tears flow silently and keeps the back of Anders’ hand pressed to the brand on his forehead.

Anders’ hand pulls away, and Karl knows in one crushing moment that he’ll never hold it again.

Karl looks up, his throat clamped in a vise of tears and things he’ll never say. If Anders doesn’t want him anymore, then it was always his decision to make, and Karl never wanted to clip Anders’ wings. Anders is sleep-mussed and still bleary, wiping his face down with the sleeve of his shirtwaist, and looking around. First at where Karl presumes Hawke and Varric still are, then to the pot, and finally to Karl.

His beautiful brown eyes clear when they land on Karl, for some reason, and Anders cups Karl’s face in his hand, strokes his thumb over the brand with a shudder. Karl leans into the touch, however, grateful for whatever last moments he can have. Karl closes his eyes, and waits.

If only time magic existed, Karl would stretch this moment into eternity. Tears leak out again, brushed away by Anders.

“Oh, Maker, it _worked_ ,” Anders whispers. Whatever he is feeling, it must be potent. Karl knows just how rare it is for Anders to revert to calling on the Maker.

A ‘bad, old habit’ Anders called it. From a childhood Anders never talks about.

“I’m sorry,” Karl says, because it’s the only thing he can do now. “You could have died because I was stupid--”

He’d have said more but Anders tugs him up and into a hard kiss that makes hope soar in his chest and the bands around his neck ease.

Anders leans back, frames Karl’s face with his hands and stares in what looks like wonder before moving back into another kiss.

“You’re _alive_ ,” Anders breathes, pressing their foreheads together, still framing Karl’s face with his hands. “Karl, you’re _here_ , and you’re _alive_ , that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I wish it was under better circumstances, but everything is going to be _fine_ because you’re _here_.”

The linen of Anders’ shirtwaist is rough under Karl’s hands but he can’t help but fist his hands in the fabric against Anders’ back. All of his fears of Anders being angry seem stupid and irrational, all his earlier ones about leaving the Circle do as well. Anders has always had a way of easing Karl’s many fears, both small and large.

They breathe together, each point of contact like the metal rods Kinloch used to deflect lightning away from the tower. Karl can feel his emotions become less wild, less changeable, each moment they’re like this.

That’s not to say that they’re gone… Karl is sure that the next months--maybe even years--of his life won’t be easy or entirely happy. But in this one moment… those problems are so small as to be nonexistent.

“I love you,” Karl says, quietly. They made a pact, before, not to say such things. It was dangerous in the Circle to do so, to have someone that the templars can use against you, but Karl has known for a very long time that he does love Anders.

What use is freedom if he can’t say it still?

Anders’ hands press against Karl’s head harder for a brief moment, and then he threads his long fingers into Karl’s hair and kisses him again.

It’s a long kiss, eventually getting sloppy and wet from tears that Karl isn’t sure is just Anders, but not an open-mouthed one.

Karl would have thought Anders would have forgotten how awkward Karl finds open-mouthed kisses, but he didn’t. A small, simple gesture, remembering such a thing after years apart, but it tells Karl everything he needs to know.

“I love you too,” Anders says, still, rocking away from the kiss to touch foreheads again, even though Karl is sure the feeling of his brand is disgusting. “I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

He’s hated the Circle for a long time, even if Karl has never been as vocal about it as Anders, but it has always been idle. Constant, but never something he thought he could act on.

Now, he hates it even more for the years it took from them, only he might be able to do something about it. With Anders by his side, Karl thinks he might be able to do anything.

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I heard that Kandersgiving2020 was going on, I realized that I had never actually written a _Kanders fic_ even though I have many ideas on how they worked and a few Karl headcanons as well. Clearly this couldn't stand. So, over the past four days, I wrote my heart out to be able to get this out in time for the last day.
> 
> I'm really proud of this, though, and couldn't help stuffing as many of my headcanons into it as possible. ~~And yes, I couldn't help sticking a reference to Finn in there, which I'm not sure anyone will be able to catch actually, now that I think about it.~~ I hope everyone likes it too, and that more Kanders works will come around, because, wow, I didn't realize how _small_ a fanbase this ship has when it's a _canon_ ship.
> 
> If you'd like, come visit me on [tumblr](https://sachinighte.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
